Years

I was five when the shouting started. My mom and dad would be in constant battle. They would pretend to smile whenever I'm in front of them and hit it off again when the lights are off. I would cover my ears with my hands to deafened the noise.

I was seven when my dad left. I got home from school one day and found my mom staring blankly at the porch. She told me dad wouldn't be coming back anymore. The shouting stopped only to be replaced by silence. I missed the shouting. The silence was far louder than my parents' voices.

I was eight when I first smelled alcohol in my mom's breath. She wasn't herself ever since my dad left. I tried to help her. I hide the bottles away from her. But she always finds it. She always smelled the same.

I was twelve when I first refused to cry. I didn't want people to see my weakness. I didn't cry even as my mom's unconscious body was wheeled out of our house after an over doze. My eyes stung but I held the tears inside me.

I was eighteen when I moved out. I was finally free away from the clutches of my parents' insanity. But the silence followed me everywhere.

I was twenty-two when I received a call from mom. She was crying and asked for forgiveness. She asked if I was okay. I didn't know what to say so I said I was happy. That everything is okay. But I was never okay.

I was twenty-nine when I pressed the red button. When the silence was the loudest.

Author's Notes: Melancholia fills the air. There's something about today that made me sad.